


Cartoon Robots

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Community: eleventy_kink, F/M, Het, PTSD, Slavery, The Year That Never Was, Toclafane, Work Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy and Rory, during the Year That Never Was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cartoon Robots

It was their voices that Amy hated the most. Well, no, it was their habit of shooting or slicing apart anyone because of some implied fault, or because of orders from the Master. Or boredom. But it was their voices that set Amy on edge - they sounded like something out of a kid's television show, like one of the friendly cartoony robots. What were some of those kids shows with robots? There was Transformers, obviously, but what about Care Bears? She remembered watching that as a kid on old, scratchy VHS tapes. Was there a regular robot character? How about that other kids show, the one with the dinosaurs. Or were they gnomes? She remembered them being small, walking amongst grass as if it were trees. More scratchy old VHS tapes, watched sitting on the floor in front of the old television.

Today, she thought about cartoon robots as she stood in front of the huge table, pulling computers apart, throwing all the different pieces into the different boxes, with thousands of people on either side. The warehouse they were standing in was bigger than Leadworth ever was, filled with more people from all over the globe. She didn't think she'd ever seen this many people in one place before. Yesterday, she was naming all the breeds of dogs that she could remember, as her fingers first bled, then grew calloused from tearing apart wires, pulling motherboards and frames, carefully detaching screens. Maybe it would be cat breeds tomorrow, or television shows with dragons, or song lyrics. No, she'd run out of song lyrics. She'd run out of song lyrics about three months ago (she thought it was three months, at any rate - she had been keeping track of it via her menstrual periods, but it had been a good long time and she still hadn't gotten one, probably from the lack of nutrition).

Amy Pond thought of all of those things so she didn't have to remember the sound Jeff made when the Toclafane sliced him up like the salads Rory used to eat after he picked the tomatoes out (he had always hated tomatoes, although now he talked about garnishing their gruel with them, if only for some bloody _taste_ ), didn't have to remember the smell of Leadworth burning (burnt pork and wood smoke), didn't have to see the piles of the dead on the sides of the roads as they were marched off to the warehouse (she was surprised at how much it bothered her that she didn't know where she was - sometimes she thought it was Scotland, sometimes it was Ireland, sometimes she even went as far as Wales - but it was impossible to tell, with the trees gone and the grass trampled flat).

They lived in barracks. Amy remembered building the barracks, remembered the raw wood smell of them and the way she smashed her thumb with a hammer. It was amazing, how much better a wood pallet could feel, after sleeping in the mud. There was even a river nearby, albeit a very polluted one, and people used it to wash the very worst of the dirt off. The overseers had promised them showers, but they'd also promised them a proper hospital, not an old wooden hut. Their clothing was filthy of course, but so were their bodies. They'd gotten used to the smell, more or less.

When she reached the barracks, Amy looked for Rory. She found him, sprawled on their bed, his eyes shut tightly. "They're getting meaner," he said, his voice quiet above the din.

"Who's getting meaner?" Amy crawled into the bed with him, tucking a piece of her greasy hair behind her ear.

"The flying golf balls," Rory said, stroking her back methodically. His voice sounded like one of the robots she had been thinking of while sorting the computer parts.

"Do I want to know?" Amy clamored on top of him, belly to belly and chest to chest. She tangled their legs together, trying not to think of how filthy she was, how filthy he was. Their boots clunked together, and Amy sighed, pressing her face into Rory's neck.

"No," Rory said shortly into her hair, and kissed the top of her head. "At least it's not cold anymore, not really." It wasn't hot, exactly, but they weren't shivering anymore, no more people dying in the middle of the night from the cold. It's just warm enough to not have to wear a coat, the type of weather Amy would have loved in her old life.

Amy squirmed, looking up at Rory. She saw the curve of his jaw, his tired green eyes, felt his ribs under his thick sweatshirt and his thin skin. "We should shag," she said, squirming enough that he would take notice.

Rory looked down at her, his eyebrows in the vicinity of his hairline. "What?" He stroked her hair out of her face, cupping her cheek and thumbing her lips.

"You heard me." She did that particular shimmying thing with her hips that used to make Rory wild in their old lives, when they would be lying together like this on a lazy Sunday afternoon, in Rory's crowded flat. "We should shag. Fuck. Make love. Have sex. Do the horizontal mambo." She emphasized each euphemism with a roll of her hips. She didn't feel anything poking her belly, but she couldn't blame Rory. She wasn't physically turned on, but she needed the intimacy. She needed a little reminder of life before. "C'mon Rory, we haven't shagged since Richardson died. Please?" She gave her Amy pout, and it was odd to see it on her gaunt, filthy face and greasy hair.

Rory felt a familiar clench below the belt, looking up at her. "Well… alright. But we can't do it here." He looked around - people were on all sides. Other people had sex in the open, of course, but Rory was still Rory, even if he was also one of the sole medical officers of a slave camp.

"We could go outside…." Amy wheedled, somewhat amazed that she was doing this. "There's a shadowy part by the latrines, and the overseers never check it. Regina told me about it, it's where she and Sarah go when they want some privacy." She squirmed off of him, beginning to walk towards the door, carefully stepping over the various outstretched limbs. It would be more difficult coming back from the latrines - the lights would probably be out, which meant she would have to be careful not to step on anyone.

When he joined her, Rory slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it. She smiled at him crookedly in the darkness as they made their way to the latrines.

"Y'know, some things never change." Amy smiled as they reached the latrines, which were nothing but wooden stalls over holes in the ground. She leaned against the wall on the outside of one of the stalls, in the shadow of two walls.

"Hm?" Rory came closer to her, pressing his forehead against hers. Her breasts were small and hard against his chest, diminished from the lack of proper nourishment.

"We're always going off to the toilet for a snog," Amy said, and kissed him. "It was the only place we'd get privacy in school, remember?" She kissed him again.

His breath was horrible, and hers couldn't be much better. Their noses bumped together, their teeth clacking against each other, but it didn't matter, because they were together, alive and very scared, but still together. She wrapped her leg around his hip, jerking her hips against his. Her hands went to the back of his head, burying themselves into the thick, greasy hair. She pulled him as close as she could, shaking and panting as her hips pushed against his. It was almost like when they were teenagers, horny and desperate, like the world was ending and the only way to stop it was by fucking as quickly and as hard as possible.

But the world had already ended, and they were both reminded of that, from the calluses on the tips of Amy's fingers to the scar on Rory's shoulder from a whipping by an especially cruel overseer. Rory's hands were fumbling as they worked under her shirt, kneading her small breast, rough and desperate. He felt the desperate staccato beat of her heart under his palm and kissed her harder, gasping and moaning as her hand found its way between his legs, pressing down on his erection.

It was going to be quick. In the old days, in the days of sunshine and soft beds, they'd go slow, drawing it out. But they don't have the time, or the soft beds, and now it was a quick and dirty shag up against the splintered walls of the latrines, not thinking about the smell or the fact that Amy could get pregnant, because they both doubted they'd live to see the next month. It was desperate and filthy, just like they were, giving themselves a moment to pretend that they were still the nurse and the Kiss-O-Gram on a night out, fucking outside for the thrill of it.

Amy slid her hand into Rory's trousers, pulling them open and yanking his cock out. She didn't know how he was so hard, but she was wet, so wet, and her trousers would be filthy later and she wouldn't be able to clean them, but she didn't care at this moment, because Rory's thumb had found her clit and was carefully, oh-so-carefully, nudging it. She kissed him as hard as she could, doing her damnedest to climb him like a tree, her hips thrashing against him. She pulled her trousers down and off, knickers with them, until they dangled off of one boot, and they would probably be covered in mud (hopefully just mud, not any overflow from the latrines) but she didn't care at this very moment

"Rory, please…." She was sobbing, gaping, her legs open and standing on tiptoe. "Do it. Put it in me, now." She yanked his pants open, pulling his cock out. "Put it in put it in put it _in_!" She braced her shoulders against the wall and wrapped her legs around Rory's hips as he hefted her up. She shifted and reached between them to help line him up, then gasping as he pushed himself into her, clamping down on him.

"Fuck…." Rory pressed his face into her neck, his hands on her hips to keep them from sliding down. He bit the side of her neck, whimpering, and began to thrust into her, grunting with the exertion and mumbling endearments into her neck, "I love yous" and "god yes mores" in equal measure.

Amy had her legs wrapped around his hips, the heels of her boots digging into his arse, gasping and panting and grunting, because it felt so fucking good, better than it had a right to feel. It made sense it would feel good - this was the first fuck they'd had in a while, and she was so lonely, she could think of this tomorrow, in between horses or dragons or dogs. She could lose herself in the feel of Rory's cock inside of her, his chest pressed against hers through the layers of fabric of their stinking sweaters and shirts, the scent of his skin under the sweat and fear. She relished the taste of his mouth, which was just as bad as hers, as they kissed, even as she felt herself start to shudder around him.

She cried when she came, deep, gasping sobs as her whole body was wracked with shivers. Rory came shortly after, thrusting himself into her up to the hilt and sobbing into her neck. They stayed like that for almost a minute, connected, before they pulled apart, hearing the familiar buzzing sort of droning sound as one of the hateful metal balls came their way.

"What are you doing out at night, tiny humans?" The thing's voice sounded almost like it was laughing at them.

"We were… we were having sex," Rory said, his voice rough. The Toclafane didn't appreciate being lied to, and it was better to be alive and humiliated than dead from their lasers or their blades. He stood in front of Amy to give her the illusion of modesty as she wriggled back into her trousers, blushing furiously at the feeling of fluid leaking out of her, and at the fact that that… thing had seen the two of them together, ruined their intimate moment.

"Making more humans to make us more rockets!" The Toclafane sounded like it was laughing. "Good humans. Go back to the barracks, or I shall have to punish you." Its blades came out with an audible "shnick" sound, and Amy bit her lip, clutching at Rory's arm.

Rory nodded, beginning to make his way towards their barracks. He could feel Amy trembling against him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Amy leaned her head against his, shaking. There wasn't anything she could say, wasn't anything she could do. So she held on to him and started to count each of his kisses in her head, to block out the sound of the screams.

 _The Doctor hadn't expected Amy to start crying at the silly little cartoon show. It was a popular one on Earth in her time, about robots and fighting and saving the day. He had figured Amy would enjoy it, considering her love of animation. But she had heard one of the robots start to talk and burst into tears, inconsolable until Rory had wrapped his arms around her. He would have to look into that…._


End file.
